Chapter Text
They live inside us, and sometimes, they win...
Brown eyes watch as the last of the smoke extinguishes off the hot metal of his SR-25 sniper rifle. Glancing at his watch, he is surprised to find that he has just taken his fastest record. 0.34 seconds to shoot and kill the head of a rival hit man. He leaps off the branch with ease, shaking the feeling back into his legs. He hopes his team will have coffee ready for him when he gets back, he really needs the sugar rush.
Suga’s footsteps in the snow are fading by the time the horrified screams of the man’s servants sound.
XXX
He sits in front of his computers, the digits flashing on the screen rise by the thousands every time he blinks his eyes. He crunches his lollipop, blinking lazily. Iron raids his taste buds. He realizes he cut his tongue on a jagged piece of the candy. He sucks at the cut area, eyes glued to the screen. The digits now read: 3,090,000. When the number no longer goes up, he reaches over, types command, and stands. A yawn leaves his mouth; it’s already 3:34 AM.
Akaashi has just hacked and taken over three million off a very rich man in two minutes.
XXX
There’s 15 million in the pile that lay within the suitcase, and he disregards it; he has no need for it just now. There are thousands of shipping to be made, and millions of yen to be collected. He eyes the stack of paperwork in front of him, nearly finished; business of the mafia was tiresome. He made his way to his team; everyone was busy working on other negotiations. His cell phone rings.
“Daichi speaking.”
XXX
He runs his hands along the perfectly manufactured hand guns. They’re so polished he can see his reflection, a perfect man with a perfect smile plastered across his perfect face. Everything had to be in order the way he wants them to be in. He waves the box away and strolls to check on another collection. Three steps pace, equal distant spacing between each step, not a single hair off.
Oikawa registers the amount of illegal weapons in the storehouse.
XXX
The mattress springs creak as he rides the man, savoring the sensation of being stretched. He lets himself moan, releasing his voice to coax out the climax. He smells the opium in the air, mixed with sex, sweat, and other bodily fluids. He feels the silk of the bedspread. The man twitches inside him, and he rolls his hips one more time. The man releases, and he feels the hotness in himself. He is pushed back for another round.
Yamaguchi shuts his eyes and listens as the others indulge in their pleasures.
XXX
His blonde hair falls over his eyes, again. He reaches up to fix it, releasing a puff of smoke from his mouth. He stands, and walks over to the huge wall of cabinets. Inside contains thousands of types of drugs, really for shipping. He rounds the spacious room, checking things over; they were due to the mafia in a couple of hours. Another perfect ring of smoke is blown out, and he relishes the sweetness of the leaves.
Kenma walks out of the room and heads to the basement, trailing the scent of smoke behind him.
XXX
Ushijima grabs his coat from the rack. With one last glance back at the honey blond curled up in his bed, he exits the room.
“Sir!” It’s Noya, the small male hopping to keep in pace. “You have three meetings from nine to eleven, then a conference with the press at twelve!”
He nods, feeling the presence of two larger figures. Aone, silently trailing, and Iwaizumi, eyes sharp. His body guards, not that he needs any.
The only one missing, Shirabu.
He spies the blonde leaning against the limo. The smaller boy looks up, expression nonchalant.
“Where’s Kei?” he asks, and Ushijima spares him a smile.
“In bed.” Shirabu’s unimpressed look drops as he gets into the car swiftly, not glancing back.
Noya, meanwhile, laughs. “Nice going, boss!”
Aone opens the door for him to step into.
XXX
Suga slams the door on his way in. He succeeds in jolting Lev up, the Russian yelping in surprise.
Hanamaki hurries over to take his weapon.
“How long did it take?” He asks, strawberry blond hair turned blue by the gleam of the computer.
Suga gives him a lopsided grin. “Not even a second.”
“Nice!”
Hanamaki goes to high five Lev. Suga spots the victim’s profile on the computer. Over the man’s image was a large INACTIVE stamp.
“Suga-san,” a raven steps out of the shadows, brows furrowed.
“Mhm? What’s up, Kageyama?” Suga accepts coffee from an acrylic mug with a picture of a sun crossed out and an arrow point at it, saying fuck. Goddamn that Oikawa with his stupid gifts.
A letter is handed to him, and it’s his turn to frown at it.
“What is this?” he rips it open, manners be damned, squinting in the dim light.
In neat cursive letters, an invitation lays in Suga’s hands. An invitation to the opening of yet another Shiratorizawa company.
God, what did Ushijima want this time? Demean them again? Remind them that they belonged down here, in the underground world of lies, while he was up there, spoiled in gold? They knew that, they knew he owned Utopia. They knew that they were just the trash of the city, forced to live in the dystopian world of the underground business.
Suga ripped the letter to shreds, throwing it over his head.
Lev exchanged looks with Hanamaki and Kageyama.
“Ushijima, huh?” Hanamaki bent down to gather the scraps of paper.
“Like hell we’ll make the stupid grand opening!” Suga said, flopping down onto the worn out sofa.
Lev attempted to cheer him up. “Yeah, fuck Ushijima!”
He elbowed Kageyama, who looks between them, eyes wide. “R-Right, who is he to tell us to attend anything?”
They try so hard, it’s adorable.
Suga raises his arms to them. “Come here.”
They don’t hesitate to jump onto the sofa with him.
XXX
Akaashi couldn’t sleep again.
Don’t sleep, the shadows whisper, don’t sleep or you’ll dream of him. Who? The one who thieves or the one who was thieved?
Why him? Why did Oikawa have to take him of all people? There were so many to choose from! Why take Bokuto? What could that do for him? Did he just want to aggravate Akaashi?
He hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours since he left. Bokuto had helped with the nightmares, he soothed the monsters away.
A tendon of darkness appeared by the edge of the bed and Akaashi jolts up, with a gasp.
He swings his legs over the bed and into his boots. The sounds of the night fill his ears, and he splashes his face with water.
Out of nowhere, a phone rings. Cursing, Akaashi grabs it off the table.
Oikawa Tooru. Speak of the devil!
“Hello?” he masks his insomnia with an iron façade of neutrality.
“Kei-chan! Hi! I was just calling to remind you that Ushijima sent us mail~ Don’t forget to check your mailbox like you always do!”Oikawa’s silky voice spills from the line and Akaashi wrinkles his nose in disgust.
His voice comes out nonchalantly.
“No problem, thank you for your reminder,” he says, heading to the door.
“Sure, anytime, Kei-chan! Be sure to get enough rest, you looked ill last meeting,” Oikawa laughed and hung up.
Fucking shit. Oikawa, that bastard! He knew why Akaashi looked ill. Besides, calling at a time Akaashi was supposed to sleep during? That idiot had some nerve!
He regards the letter wrapped in gold and silver ink. Ushijima.
XXX
Daichi lets out a long sigh. He shoves the letter into his drawer.
If there was anything they all had in common, it would be their ever hatred towards Ushijima. Besides ruling Utopia, he had all the say in the underground businesses. He placed “employers” and conducted businesses, all the while keeping a clean image for the press.
He was the reason Daichi couldn’t see his parents, the reason why Daichi couldn’t see Suga.
He picks up his phone, flipping through the images. He stops on the only image he has to remember Suga by. It was a photo he had taken with Suga on the last day of high school, the last normal day of their lives, before the Utopian system forced them to enter the consortium.
How lovely Suga looked, dressed in the gold Utopian graduation robes, silver hair reflecting the sunlight. That had been when he still smiled, still held the belief of innocence.
Daichi had caught a glimpse of him last autumn, during the opening of a large company.
He looked faded out, dulled. True, they often called to communicate the next missions, but not seeing him, or holding him, was driving Daichi insane.
He thumbed through the contacts, eventually landing on the familiar name.
Would it hurt? To call? No one would know. He tapped it, putting the phone to his ear.
XXX
“Who put this here?!” Oikawa swiped the vase off its stand.
In his anger, he didn’t realize the glass shattered everywhere, some into the soft flesh of his wrist.
Whoever the culprit was, they stood silently. It was the best thing to do when he got like this.
Shimizu rushed forward and took his injured hand. Bokuto silently bent down to clean the glass from the marble floors. Hinata brought Shimizu a damp cloth and some bandages.
Oikawa’s breathing was hectic, irregular to the point of which Hinata had to wrap his arms around his torso. Physical contact always helped sooth him, and Oikawa visibly relaxed, letting his free hand rest on the back of Hinata’s head.
“What happened, Oikawa?” Hinata said, voice surprisingly soft.
The brunette shook out of his daze, pulling a letter from his pocket.
Bokuto took it, reading it through, eyes widening. “Again?”
Oikawa sighed, smoothing his designer clothes, then smiled as if his outburst had not happened a second before.
“Yes, again. He seems intent on pissing us off,” he said, shooting them a perfect smile.
Shimizu looked up, eyes shielded by the gleam of her glasses. “Should we attend?”
Oikawa pauses before his smile widens even more. “I think we should.”
He heads to the stairs. “Make sure you guys get the nicest clothes you can find, let’s piss that son of bitch off even more.”
XXX
Yamaguchi grips the blanket, pulling it up higher to cover his shoulders. He hates the silk bed spread, can't stand the luxuries he doesn't deserve.
He misses plain cotton sheets, honey eyes, summer kisses, and late nights indulged in love. He misses when he had him.
What he would give to feel him again, taste strawberries on his tongue. To give away this fortune to take back that wholesome desire.
He turns in his bed, trying not to be sick at the feeling of the arm draped around his waist.
"I'm sorry, but he will stop at nothing to kill us if I don't give him what he wants."
It replays, over and over again.
What has he done to deserve this? What caused this to happen?
Tsukki, all he wants was to have Tsukishima back.
He needs him back, because he feels like he's losing his mind.
He will do whatever it takes to get him back.
He gets off the bed and pulls on his robes, adjusting the hem around his neck. He sees a trail of blood run down his thigh. Fuck. He can’t have clients seeing this.
He was Yamaguchi Tadashi, after all, the most desired escort in Dystopia and Utopia.
He steps into the hall, sounds of sex from every corner of the mansion. It was warm, the air filled with extra radiated body heat. He peers through the crack of a door, into a dimly lit room. He sees Terushima, pinning a boy beneath him.
He’s all tongue and smirks, compared to Kuroo, who thrives in others’ pleasure. And Yahaba, a major power bottom, playful with his leather kink.
Yamaguchi heads to the backroom, in search for a jar of ointment. He hears the slapping of flesh on flesh and finds Kuroo coupling with Yahaba. The taller boy mercilessly thrusting his hips into Yahaba, who scrunches his brows at the forcefulness.
They’re moaning in unison, sweat glistening on their naked skin, and Yamaguchi must admit, it turns him on.
They notice him, and Kuroo stops for a moment to hold his hand out for Yamaguchi to join them. He lets himself be pulled into their embrace, succumbing into the comfort of familiar touches.
XXX
Kenma sits back, shuddering as he feels the pills go down his throat. Opium pills to take him away from reality, if only for the while.
He closes his eyes and he can practically feel Kuroo again, his roughened hands and sturdy embrace. And the sex, god, the sex.
Kenma throws his head back against the stone wall, and he doesn’t even register the thick blood that oozes down his neck.
Then, soft, cool hands are on him, matting up the blood and soothing his burning skin. Ennoshita, of course.
Something is put to his lips, and he takes a sip, only to realize it was water. He takes the glass, greedily draining the liquid.
Ennoshita continues stroking through his hair, rubbing circles into his back.
“Take it slowly, Kenma.” Even his voice was soothing. Damn his beautiful existence.
Ennoshita helps him stand, directing him to the bathroom.
“I prepared a bath for you; it should help with your headache.”
The brunette doesn’t leave him alone, which was a smart move, considering Kenma’s unstableness at the moment.
“Have I ever told you I love you?” Kenma asks as Ennoshita was easing him into the tub.
Ennoshita allows a chuckle. “Yes, many times, actually.”
Kenma closes his eyes, leaning his head back into Ennoshita’s hands. “Well, in case I don’t say it enough, I love you. For everything.”
Ennoshita hums softly as he massages shampoo into Kenma’s coarse locks. “You know what I think, Kenma?”
Kenma lets out a grunt.
“I think you’re still very very high,” Ennoshita’s hands move down to scrub at the back of Kenma’s ears.
The blond laughs. “Maybe I am.”
They sit in silence, Ennoshita making sure Kenma was fully clean before draining the water and wrapping the smaller boy in a towel.
He directs him to his room and then heaves Kenma into the bed.
“You need rest, a lot of rest,” Ennoshita says, adjusting the blankets around him. Kenma peers up at him with heavily lidded eyes.
“I miss Kuroo.”
Ennoshita’s eyes soften.
“I know.”
XXX
He traces the curled strands of blonde hair, watching as they fall back into place when he releases them. His hair was getting long; he'd have to remember to take him to get it trimmed.
His hands wander lower to pluck at the softness of his throat, feeling the smoothness on his chin, and tasting the sweetness of his collarbones.
The blond shudders under him, wrapping arms around his neck tightly, as if afraid to let go. With his hands, he brushes his hips, feeling the youth buckle into his hand, letting out a small moan.
"Shh, I have you, don't worry," he whispers, lips brushing earlobes.
Honey gold eyes looks him directly in the eyes, and soft lips press against his feverously.
Ushijima watches the way Tsukishima lets himself succumb to the pleasure, clutching the pillows behind him.
There was a loud knock on his door, and Shirabu was already stepping into the room without waiting.
He doesn’t look up, eyes cast downwards.
“All the letters have been sent out, just as you wished,” he states, and Ushijima can hear the clench of his jaws. “We’ll be starting plans tomorrow. We ask for your word in this.”
Ushijima brushes Tsukishima’s hair from his forehead.
“Do what you have to, but I will join tomorrow’s conference to discuss further details,” he says, trying to ignore Shirabu’s grimace.
He barely hears the blonde leave the room.
Oh, Shirabu, if only you knew.
He turns back to plant a kiss on Tsukishima’s brow.
He couldn’t wait to see their faces when they saw each other again. Those poor victims of dystopia.